


An Unexpected Gift

by bainsidhe



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Birthday Smut, F/M, Fluff, Fluff with a little bit of angst, Smut, culture clash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-24
Updated: 2016-09-24
Packaged: 2018-08-17 02:17:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,231
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8126570
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bainsidhe/pseuds/bainsidhe
Summary: The last thing Hawke wants to do on her birthday is listen to the Arishok berate her.  But sometimes birthday gifts come from the most unexpected places...
A TMB birthday gift for Bushviper, who loves her some Arishawke!





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bushviper](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bushviper/gifts).



Marian Hawke could imagine many places she'd like to be on her birthday, a mere three days from now. A beach in Antiva, maybe. Or the wooded shores of a peaceful lake in Ferelden (minus the darkspawn, naturally). Hell, even a spa day in Hightown would be nice. She did not, however, relish the thought of spending her birthday in the qunari compound, being glared at by the surliest fucking bastard who'd ever sprouted horns. She returned the Arishok's glower with one she hoped was equally intimidating. Maker's breath, but the man could crack a smile once in a while. Or ever.

"I told you," she responded, trying her mightiest to keep the huffiness out of her voice, "I'm working on it."

"Pah." The Arishok waved a massive hand at her dismissively. "What a _basra_ expression. In the Qun, there is no 'working' on a problem. There is action, or inaction. You have either done a thing, or you have not. And you have not done this thing, and my patience thins with every day you prolong your failure."

Marian's blood boiled at the Arishok's (utterly unjustified, in her opinion) denigration. "That's ridiculous!" she sputtered. "You gave me three days to track down a band of thugs who killed one of your soldiers, and I have some leads, as I _told_ you already, but they've gone to ground. Did you imagine that they would come present themselves for execution because I asked nicely?" _Besides,_ Marian thought darkly, _if you want this done so bad, do it yourself. Let's see how many days it takes_ you _to track down three needles in the endless haystack of Kirkwall's dregs._

"I imagined that your connections to Kirkwall's underworld would prove more useful than they have been to date," the Arishok retorted. "It is well known that you consort with undesirables. As I cannot send my warriors into the streets of Kirkwall without your toothless Viscount taking notice, I had hoped that you would be a satisfactory solution to fulfilling the demands of the Qun. I can see now that I was wrong."

"That is not fair," she said hotly. "I _know_ who they are. But these thugs are like rats – you can't just charge in pell-mell to slaughter them. They have too many hiding places, and they know the warrens of Darktown like the back of their hand. It's a waiting game, Arishok. Give me the _time_ to wait them out. Eventually, they'll make a mistake, and then I'll have them. Not everything has to be accomplished by brute force."

The Arishok glowered, his face impassionate and stony, and Marian wondered if anything she'd said had made one damn bit of difference. But then, after what seemed like an interminable hour, the Arishok leaned back ever so slightly, and Marian thought she noticed his scowl lighten by the barest degree.

"There is much sense in what you say," he said. "Very well. I will grant you more time to complete this task. Do not expect my patience to be infinite."

Marian almost laughed out loud. _Don't worry, Arishok – I don't think anyone would ever make that mistake!_ Despite the still stern nature of his words, she felt an oddly warm sensation bubbling through her, as though he'd bestowed upon her the greatest of praise. _I suppose, with the Arishok, any time he's not snarling at you and calling you an incompetent idiot is a victory._ Still, his words touched her, and she could not entirely say why.

"Thank you, Arishok," she said sincerely. "I _will_ bring these thugs to justice. Your people don't deserve to be murdered in the streets."

The Arishok snorted. "I suspect we have very different definitions of 'deserve,' Hawke, but nevertheless, your forthrightness does you credit." He paused, which was something she'd never really noticed him do before – the Arishok did not speak unless he was entirely certain of his words. "Perhaps I was mistaken about this city. I had thought it full of the worst kind of _basra_ , honorless wretches who prove the truth of the Qun with their every act of deceit and cowardice. You present a contradiction to my harsh judgment."

If Marian had been taken aback by his 'praise' before, she was utterly speechless now. "I – thank you," she said, feeling her face flushing hotly. "You honor me."

"I speak truth. There is no need for gratitude when truth is spoken, unless one is accustomed to lies." Marian could not resist a smile at the Arishok's strange logic – even when he was praising her, he seemed so reluctant to admit it.

"Well, just so you know, there aren't a lot of people I'd be willing to spend my birthday in a dank sewer in Darktown for, so you ought to feel special," she teased, his uncharacteristic niceness making her feel a little cheeky.

Marian hadn't exactly been expecting the Arishok to banter with her, but she also hadn't expected her throwaway comment to elicit a deep and surly scowl. "Your what? What is a 'birthday'?"

Marian blinked owlishly, uncertain she'd heard him correctly. "What do you mean, 'what is a birthday'? You know… the day you were born? The day you celebrate turning a year older? I mean, I know things are different under the Qun, but you still have birthdays, don't you? I mean, you have to, you were born at some point, right?"

The Arishok stared at her as if she'd grown a second head. "You celebrate the day you were born? What purpose does this serve?"

"I…" Of all the awkward conversations she'd ever had with the Arishok, this one had to take the cake. How in the world did she explain the concept of _birthdays_? "It's just a celebration of your life, I suppose. Your friends and family spend time with you, and usually get you gifts. It's just… a day to be happy that you're alive, that you have people who care about you. Don't you have anything similar?"

"No. How frivolous." The Arishok's voice made it clear what he thought of such a concept. "I can imagine nothing more pointless than celebrating the continued existence of an unremarkable life."

Perhaps it was because she'd so recently basked in his unanticipated but welcome approval, and she hadn't realized how deeply praise from such a taciturn and otherwise emotionally inaccessible man as the Arishok would affect her; but now, she found that his casual insult cut her to the quick. Anger and distress welled up within, and she bit the inside of her cheek to ward off an unexpected and sudden desire to cry.

_For the Maker's sake, Marian, what's wrong with you?_ she berated herself. _Did you think he liked or cared about you, just because he thinks you're the only person in Kirkwall who isn't worthy of death? He's the Arishok. You're just another 'bas' to him – a thing, not even really a person. He doesn't care about you. Just do your job and have done with it, and stop worrying about this extraordinarily unpleasant man._

"Fine," she managed, cursing the brittle undertone in her voice that bespoke her battle against her precarious emotions. "It's a good thing no one in the Qun has time for celebrations, or friends, or any other 'frivolous' nonsense, then." She pulled herself up straighter, determined to salvage the ragged tatters of her dignity. "You'll hear from me when I kill those thugs. I trust at that juncture our business will be concluded."

For a moment, it seemed as though the Arishok wanted to say something, but Marian furiously dismissed the thought. Of course he didn't want to say anything, except maybe to further expound on the uselessness of things like emotions and friendships under the almighty Qun. She needed to stop projecting her feelings and expectations onto such a foreign and inscrutable man, who, when it came down to it, had nothing in common with her or her people.

"Very well." She was right. He had nothing to say, and she was a fool for ever expecting anything more. "I shall see you when this task is done, Hawke."

"Good." She couldn't wait to get out of the compound, and when the pair of karashoks escorted her to the gates, she found she couldn't manage her perfunctory words of gratitude. She marched out of the compound, refusing to look back until she was safely ensconced in her Hightown mansion. She ignored the curious looks of her servants as she stalked into the kitchens and poured herself a generous glass of brandy. Only when she was alone in her study did she permit herself to indulge in her anger, throwing the brandy into the fire with an impotent rage.

* * *

 

Hawke sat sullenly before the fireplace, nursing a cordial.

_Happy birthday to me_ , she thought bitterly.

The incident three days before at the qunari compound still weighed heavily on her spirit, which frustrated and angered Marian in equal measure. If she was going to be angry on her birthday, she should be angry at her fickle friends for leaving her in the lurch. Isabela was off who knew where, probably trying to settle her score with that pirate who'd screwed her over. Aveline had sent her a note, which was lovely, but she'd regretfully explained that, due to the recent crime wave in Lowtown, she couldn't spare herself from the guard rotation, and wouldn't be able to stop by. Varric and Merrill had stopped in for a spell, but Merrill had left to go back to her home in the alienage ( _probably to work on that bloody cursed mirror_ , Marian thought darkly), and Varric had had some shady business deal or other to broker. And so she was alone on her birthday, and because she was alone on her birthday, she found her thoughts returning, inexplicably, to the Arishok.

Why was he _such_ an ass? She understood that the Qun was an entirely different philosophy than Andrastianism or anything else practiced in Thedas, but she couldn't imagine that the Qun required him to tell her that her life was _worthless_. Ugh! She downed her brandy, and poured another. Why did she even care what he thought? She hadn't brooded this much over Anders or Fenris, and she'd actually fucked them.

_Well, Anders turned out to be a basket of crazy,_ she reminded herself. _And Fenris doesn't know what he wants. I'm really not sure why I keep gravitating to unobtainable men. Why can't I just date someone boring for once?_

She paused, mid-drink, startled by her train of thought. Why was she thinking about the Arishok in the same sentence as her former lovers? Her face burned hot as she allowed herself, in her slight inebriation, to follow the thought through to its natural conclusion.

_He_ is _attractive_ , she allowed. Very attractive, in fact. She didn't ordinarily think about the qunari in that way, but there was something about the Arishok in particular – his commanding presence, his refined but stern features, always beset with a scowl, his full and almost pretty lips – that captivated her. She briefly wondered what he would look like if he deigned to sit upon his throne shirtless, like so many of his warriors, covered solely in the battle vitaar of his people.

A rush of heat flooded her, and she felt a familiar twinge of longing. _Stop torturing yourself_ , she admonished, even as she found her hand drifting unconsciously towards her lap, desperate to relieve the aching pressure that had arisen upon thoughts of a shirtless, impossibly muscular Arishok looming over her, his massive hand toying with the laces of his breeches, his full lips parted in anticipation of claiming her –

A hesitant knock on the door of her study caused her to jump, spilling her brandy in startled alarm as she yanked her hand away from the junction of her legs in shock and embarrassment. Setting the glass down on her side table far harder than was necessary, she ran shaking hands through her hair before getting up and yanking the door open with an irritable flourish.

"What?" she growled at the fearful looking servant who stood nervously at the door.

"Pardon the interruption, messere," the servant said. "But there is a… very large qunari soldier at the door. He said the Arishok requires your presence."

Marian blinked rapidly, sure she'd misunderstood. "The Arishok?" she repeated dumbly.

"Yes, messere," the servant continued. "The soldier wouldn't really speak to me. He only told me to fetch you for some urgent business. He sounded quite insistent."

Marian stared at the servant, dumbfounded. What could possibly have happened that the Arishok felt compelled to _summon_ her from her home, at night, with no explanation? Had he managed to bring the thugs who'd murdered his soldier to justice, and he needed to excoriate her for her failure?

_Great. Just great. And on my actual birthday, no less._ Stifling a groan, Marian managed a weak nod.

"I see," she said. "Please tell the qunari I'll be down shortly."

When the servant was gone, Marian sagged against the door, allowing herself to feel nervous. Whatever this was about… it couldn't be good. But there was nothing for it – she knew well enough that the qunari soldier wasn't going anywhere until she left her house with him and presented herself before the Arishok.

_Might as well get this out of the way_ , she thought morosely. _Maybe I can get back in time to finish off this bottle of brandy before it's technically not my birthday any more._

With a sigh, she pulled on what she hoped were presentable clothes, and made her way downstairs.

* * *

 

Marian fidgeted in the extraordinarily uncomfortable chair that had been provided for her in what she surmised was the Arishok's waiting room. As if it weren't torment enough to be dragged to the spartan compound in the middle of the night with no explanation, she had to slouch herself into a rock-hard chair about three sizes too big while she waited for the Arishok to come out and heap endless disparagement upon her for whatever unforgivable _bas_ offense she'd committed this time.

The sten who'd escorted her to the compound had been absolutely no help – when she'd asked him, in what she'd hoped had been her most authoritative voice, why she was being summoned on such short notice, he had merely shaken his massive head.

"The Arishok requests your presence. I am not at liberty to say more."

And that was all she'd managed to get out of him until he'd deposited her here, in this forlorn, utilitarian room, and told her tersely to "await the Arishok." It wasn't like she had a choice; there'd been about a dozen guards between the gates and where she was currently sitting, and she couldn't have left if she'd wanted to, not if the guards were all under strict orders to keep her here.

_Happy birthday to me_ , she thought, for the second time that night, this time even more bitter than the last.

At that moment, the door creaked open, and Marian was surprised to find the Arishok himself entering into the room. Her breath caught in her throat as she realized, in the dim lantern light of the room, that he was not wearing his customary fearsome armor; though he was not shirtless and painted in vitaar, as in her brief fantasy, he wore a simple tunic that was snug against the massive bulk of his musculature, leaving very little of his anatomy to the imagination. A familiar rush of desire swept through her, and Marian squelched it swiftly – it would hardly do to be fantasizing about the man while he was reading her the riot act.

Deciding that, as the "guest" (however dubiously willing), she should greet him first, she rose to her feet and managed a polite nod.

"Hawke. You are here. I am pleased."

Marian had mentally prepared a defense against his expected disdain, and found herself utterly at a loss. He was _pleased_? Had the Arishok ever been "pleased" by anything in his entire life?

"I… of course I'm here," she stammered, caught off guard. "Your sten made it sound quite urgent. I admit I wonder what has happened to warrant summoning me here in the middle of the night."

"You will see." The Arishok gestured for her to follow him as he stood in the doorway, his face as inscrutable as ever. "Follow me."

Utterly perplexed, Marian could do nothing but obey, trailing behind the Arishok as he led her deeper into the qunari compound. The narrow corridors provided her with a rather restricted view, and she was forced to contemplate the Arishok's broad back, his muscles straining beneath the tight tunic. Her eyes drifted further down, and she felt her tongue unconsciously flit out to moisten her lips as her eyes feasted on his firm rear, encased in a pair of tan trews that, like the tunic, hugged dangerously tight against the solid musculature of his thighs. If he'd been a human man, she would have been certain that he was doing this on purpose, to drive her mad, as part of an elaborate seduction –

_Don't be ridiculous,_ she chided herself. _Whatever the Arishok's… sexual proclivities… are, I am quite certain they don't include me._

"Here." His deep voice rumbled with an almost satisfied air, which Marian knew she had to be imagining. "Enter."

She raised her eyebrow at the command, but she had to admit that she was more curious than affronted – his behavior thus far had been entirely strange and uncharacteristic, and she was bursting with wonder about whatever it was that was in this next room that he was so insistent she see. Trying her level best not to allow her eyes to linger on his impossibly toned physique, she made her way past him, and into the room… and felt her jaw drop open.

Before her was a scene so unlike the spare emptiness of the waiting room as to seem another world entirely. A massive table was the immediate focus of her attention, taking up the majority of the space within the room. It was cozily set and arrayed with a variety of food and drink, with two large squashy chairs on either end. Marian gawped at the unexpected tableau before turning to cast a perplexed look at the Arishok.

"What is this? Did you summon me here for… dinner?" A cursory glance at the table caused Marian to do a startled double-take, as she began to inventory the offerings – a stew of roast pig with carrots, fresh blueberry pie, and what appeared to be a bottle of red wine from the Amaranthine coast of Ferelden. How did…

"These are my favorite foods," she said, a little numb, as she took in the feast. "How did you know?"

"You are not the only one who can uncover secrets well kept, Hawke," the Arishok rumbled. She thought she detected a faint shadow of a grin on his face. "It was a simple matter to interrogate your associates."

Marian burst out laughing despite herself, finding the thought of a hulking qunari 'interrogator' cornering her friends and asking about her favorite type of pie entirely too ridiculous. "You grilled my friends about my favorite foods? Why on earth?" Why, indeed? Her laughter faded as she regarded the Arishok more seriously, wondering now at the purpose to this entire scene. "What is this all about?"

The Arishok held her gaze steadily. "Because it is your birthday, is it not? Someone once told me that it is a custom among your people to celebrate one's 'birthday' with gifts."

She stared at him wildly, her heart hammering raucously in her chest. But…

"I thought you didn't care," she said, utterly confused. "You told me such things were frivolous, and that there was no purpose in celebrating 'an unremarkable life.'" She realized she had failed to keep the pained bitterness out of her voice at the last.

"There is not," he agreed, and she felt even more confused than before. "It is no great deed to be alive. Many cowards enjoy long lives. What makes a life worthy is the way it is lived. Your life is worthy, _kadan._ "

Marian's breath caught in her throat as the Arishok approached her. Her skin burned as he grazed his fingers against her jaw, and in the part of her mind still capable of rational thought, she noted that his fingertips were unexpectedly soft. A hunger roared through her blood, and she knew it would not be sated by the offerings on the table.

"Thank you," she managed in a voice hoarse with longing. A chuckle of irony escaped her. "If you'd told me three days ago that I would be celebrating my birthday with the Arishok instead of my friends, I would have laughed you out of Lowtown."

He snorted. "They are unworthy of you."

Marian prickled in reflexive defense. "Hey, now, they're not all bad –"

"They left you alone to pursue their own vices. If you were _kadan_ to them, it would not be so." Marian wanted to argue with him, to tell him he was wrong, that he didn't understand, but the words died on her tongue. He was right – out of all the people she knew, it was the Arishok alone who had gone to great lengths to ensure that she was not alone this night. It was he who, despite his prickly, taciturn nature, had shown more regard for her than most of her friends. And it was he who, with the lingering ghost of his fingertips against her skin and the burning promise of desire in his eyes, she wanted to spend this night – and perhaps many more – with.

"How can I thank you, for such a fine and generous gift?" She gestured mildly at the table, but her eyes were locked on his, and he knew as well as she that she no longer spoke of dinner.

"No thanks is needed for a gift freely given," he replied. "Tonight, I will sate your hunger."

And then he came to her, and Marian dismissed all thought of dinner from her mind.

His hands were sure and moved with purpose, navigating a path up her sides and across her shoulders to come to rest against the soft skin at the nape of her neck, his fingers threading into her loose hair. Sighing in bliss, she leaned into him, a thrill of desire coursing through her as she came to rest against the rock hard plane of his massive chest, his muscles firm beneath her questing palms as she slid her hands down him, memorizing the feel of him. A growl of desire from deep within his throat was her only warning before he descended on her, teeth sharply nipping at her neck before he moved to her mouth in an all-consuming kiss.

Marian was no blushing virgin, but as the Arishok's full, firm lips caressed hers, she felt a tingling anticipation building within her that she hadn't felt in a very long time. She pressed herself closer against him, pinning her body against his, swept up by an urgent need to feel him close against her. She gasped against his mouth as she felt the sudden painful jab of his arousal pressing into her belly, and that gasp turned into a yelp as he seized her up into his arms without warning, lifting her as effortlessly as a child would lift a ragdoll. Bracing her with one arm, he carried her with ease across the room to the magnificently set table – and, with his free arm, swept the entire dinner to the floor.

"The food!" Marian exclaimed, as the Arishok laid her roughly atop the table, his massive body looming over her, his eyes hot with desire. "What about my pie –"

"I will send for another." His voice was strained by desire and brooked no argument. "I must have you at once, _kadan_." Any protestations she might have formed died in her throat as he resumed his ministrations, this time trailing his almost-rough tongue along her jaw as his enormous hands descended down her body, pausing to lightly fondle her breasts through her tunic.

"I didn't even know you liked me," she managed, her hands tugging fitfully at his shirt, wanting to see the broad expanse of his bare muscular chest. He obliged her by removing his hands from her breasts for only as long as it took to divest himself of the tiresome garment, and Marian's eyes widened in awe.

_Maker's breath, he's gorgeous_ , she thought. _It's like his muscles have muscles._ And it was true – both Anders and Fenris had been on the slim side, and she could not recall ever seeing so magnificent a male specimen as the Arishok. His massive chest was impossibly toned, the interplay of his muscles as fluid as a dancer's as he moved above her, eyes burning with need.

"I have long thought you _basalit-an_ ," he said, the muscles of his shoulders rippling as he returned his hands to her body, slipping under her tunic to caress her bare skin. "You alone in this cesspit of a city are a woman of honor and courage. But there is a fire in you that stirs me, _kadan_."

"That's the second time you've called me that," she said, her curiosity getting the best of her even as his fingers drove her to distraction, finding the pliant skin of her breasts beneath her shirt. "What does it mean?"

The Arishok paused in his ministrations, a look of intense but inscrutable emotion in his eyes. "It means 'where the heart is,'" he replied, and her own heart skipped a beat. "My heart is with you, _kadan_. I did not realize this until I felt your anger the other day when you left the compound. I realized it pained me to have offended you. That was when I knew you were _kadan_."

Despite the overwhelming emotion she felt at his confession, Marian found herself smiling. "Why, my dear Arishok, are you apologizing to me?" She snaked her hands around his neck and pulled him closer.

"No." Without warning, his hands deftly divested her of her tunic, leaving her bare from the waist up. "I am correcting your misapprehensions. You did not believe I cared for you. You are wrong. I will show you." With a quickness she was not expecting from such a large man, he descended on her breast and took a stiff nipple between his lips, sucking hard at her rosy peak. The sudden blissful pressure tore a cry of ecstasy from Marian, and her hips bucked in reflexive desire as he elicited such intense sensations from her. Her hands slipped frantically up the taut muscles of his back and shoulders before coming to a rest against the base of his horns.

Marian groaned as the Arishok attended to her with diligence, her legs wrapping around his waist instinctively as she entangled her hands around his horns, gripping the hard bone tightly as she began to unconsciously thrust against his bulging arousal. She felt, rather than heard, the deep baritone rumble of his chuckle as he lifted his face from her tender, swollen breasts.

"You are eager, Hawke. You wish to be filled by my cock." She could not disagree, though a part of her wanted to resent his baldly matter-of-fact analysis; instead, she moaned raggedly against his neck, her hands gripped tight around his horns, and pressed her hips against his in emphasis.

"Please… call me Marian," she gasped, pressing her bare breasts against his naked chest and reveling in the feel of her skin against his. "I need you, Arishok, please, just fuck me."

"Marian." The sound of her name in his rumbling voice, combined with the pressure of his cock pressing against her center through his trews, nearly sent her over the edge. "I must warn you. I am significantly larger than the _bas_ you have taken to your bed in the past. You are not prepared."

Marian huffed impatiently, removing her hands from the Arishok's horns to grasp at the (yes, rather significant) bulge in his pants. "Then prepare me," she hissed. "Maker's breath, I never knew you were such a tease."

"I intend to." With a quick movement, the Arishok's hands were at her pants, and he untied the lacings and tugged them down, along with her smallclothes, leaving her fully exposed before him. With a growl of approval, he roved along her body, hands and lips touching, tasting, caressing her, before he paused, crouched, at the juncture of her thighs.

"I can smell your lust," he said, tracing a finger along her slick entrance. "You are almost ready for me." With a gentle pressure, he slid a massive digit into her passage, then another, and Marian gasped as he curled his fingers within her, spreading her for him. "You will come for me."

His words were like a prophecy as he pumped his fingers inside her, his rough skin slick with her juices, as he pushed deeper inside her, the pressure of him against her walls sending her to a rapid and shattering climax. She cried out as his thumb pressed tight against her nub of pleasure, prolonging her ecstasy as another waved rippled over her. At last she descended back into herself, a cloudy haze of pleasure settling across her as she regarded the Arishok, still poised between her thighs, his sticky hand now braced against her leg.

"Maker," she gasped, still tingling from the aftershock of her orgasm. "That was incredible."

"I believe you are ready, now," he said, and she was surprised when he slid off the table to stand before her. With a deft movement, he unlaced his own trousers, and Marian's eyes widened as he pulled his fully erect cock free. Her cunt throbbed in anticipation of the feel of him inside her, and though she might have been alarmed at his size before he'd 'prepared' her, the lingering vestiges of pleasure that still echoed through her blood told her, more surely than his words, that she was ready for him.

"Andraste's tits, you're huge," she breathed, leaning forward to kneel before him on the table, reaching out a tentative hand to grasp his enormous member. She was surprised when he did not redirect her touch; he had been so in command of the encounter up to this point, but he seemed willing to indulge her fascination with his cock – was that a ghost of a smile she saw on his face, even?

He was right – none of her previous lovers could compare to him. As Marian stroked her hands along his rigid shaft, she felt both a quivering need and a quaking trepidation – it was one thing to fantasize about the most hung man in Thedas, and another to actually take such a massive cock. She wrapped her fingers around his girth and began to pump methodically, and her attentions drew the faintest of grunts from the Arishok as she used her free hand to lightly caress his tight sack. Boldly, she leaned in and swirled her tongue across the tip of his cock, and felt a thrill of triumph as she sucked him into her mouth, tasting the first salty pearl of his desire. With a firm, almost painful grip, the Arishok suddenly wound a hand into her hair and pulled her away from his manhood.

"You may please me with your mouth another day, Marian. Tonight, I will bury myself in your sweet cunt." Before the words registered in her mind, he slid his hands around her waist and tugged her off the table, pulling her against him, their naked bodies flush. His throbbing erection jabbed into her ribcage, and she felt her quim shudder again at the thought of taking it inside.

To Marian's surprise, he leaned down and place a tender kiss against her lips, before reaching up to lightly stroke a delicate finger along her jaw.

" _Kadan_ ," he whispered. "You are mine." Before she had a chance to react to such an intimate statement, he took her by the waist and turned her around, so that she faced the table. She braced herself against the edge as he spread her thighs apart, and her breath caught in her throat as she felt him at her entrance.

"It will be easier this way, the first time," he explained, as he teased her soaking quim with his tip. "Later, I will take you in whatever way you desire." He leaned over her then, the rock hard plane of his chest pressing against the sweat-slick skin of her back, and entered her slowly, his cock filling her until he was buried in her to the hilt. A ragged groan of pleasure tore loose from Marian's throat, and then he began to move.

She gripped the edge of the table with whitened knuckled as he pumped into her, slow and steady at first. Maker, she'd never felt so full of cock in her life! The sensation of him pressing against her walls was divine, and she pushed her arse into him, willing him to move faster. He obliged, and Marian issued another moan of delight as it seemed that her cunt was expanding, forming to his shape, learning how to take him. The feel of him in her was almost painful, so big was he, but it was the kind of pain that thrummed just under the surface, bringing a keen edge to her mounting pleasure. She stifled a scream as he withdrew almost fully and then thrust back into her, the unexpected loss of his absence quickly replaced by the thrill of his cock taking her all at once. It was too much, he was too much, and she felt her climax building rapidly, much more rapidly than she was accustomed.

As if sensing that she was on the edge, the Arishok leaned against her, his lips tickling against the shell of her ear. "You are ready now, _kadan_. Come for me. I would hear you sing." His lips lingered against her ear, and she felt one of his hands slide from her waist across her belly, down through her thatch of hair to press against her sensitive nub.

She came in a violent explosion of sensation, a cry of agonized ecstasy ripping her from throat as the pleasure crashed over her in turbulent waves. The Arishok gripped her waist tight while his other hand continued to toy with her nub, drawing the aftershocks of pleasure out of her, but soon his hand faltered and he gripped her again with both hands. Marian pressed herself against him, enjoying the rippling aftereffects of her climax, and when he came, stiffening inside her and spilling his seed in her with a grunt, she cried out too.

They remained there for a moment, limp, sweat-soaked, and utterly sated; then the Arishok gathered her in his arms and pulled her away from the table, guiding them to one of the forgotten chairs that had been intended for the birthday feast. He sat in the chair and pulled Marian onto his lap, his expression oddly tender as he brushed her sweat-damp hair out of her face.

"That was incredible," she breathed, finding it natural to nestle against him and tucking her head into the crook of his neck. She was too exhausted and sated to pause to consider the incredible intimacy of such an act, or of the wonder of sharing it with the Arishok. "Thank you."

"Anything for you, _kadan_." He did not object to their intimate posture; instead, he drew her closer, his massive arms wrapping around her and holding her close. Marian had never felt so safe.

The cloud of lust began to lift and she was left feeling boneless and more than a little sleepy. A thought tickled at her mind, something she had meant to ask about, but all she could seem to care about at the moment was sitting here, snuggled into the Arishok's arms. Her half-closed eyes fluttered, and she spied the remnants of a piece of blueberry pie on the floor.

"I'm sorry about dinner," she murmured. "I'm sure it was delicious."

"It will be waiting for you tomorrow," he promised. "You are in need of rest now. My bed is not as comfortable as the decadent beds you are no doubt used to, but it will serve."

_I'm spending the night in the Arishok's bed!_ The thought was both erotic and intimate, and she snuggled closer against him in response. "It will be lovely, I'm sure."

He chuckled. "You say that now, but do not complain in the morning when your neck is stiff and your back aches."

"As long as you're stiff too," she said, cracking open an eyelid and smirking impishly at him. He snorted, but she could see a twinkle of real amusement in his eyes.

"I assure you, there will be more than blueberry pie to await you upon your awakening."

"Good," she murmured. She felt him rise then, again carrying her effortlessly, as if she weighed nothing. It was a pleasant, comforting sensation, and Marian found she could get quite used to it.

_Happy birthday to me_ , she thought contentedly.


End file.
